Branwyn jan 2014

Branwyn is the Goddess of love, beauty, mischief and mystery. It also relates to genuine literature. The name has been tossed by Lavkesh Kumar Singh.

Editorial :

Dear Readers,

Publisher and Director Vineeta Gupta

Founder and Editor-in-Chief Sneha Gupta

Mentor Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha

Managing Editor Parul Parihar

Tech Support Rahul Kumar Singh

Legal and Financial Advisor Abhishek Singhania

Here we are once again in front you with much more interesting issue of Branwyn.

Once again, “Amateur Scribbles” has become a collection of gems. Hope you would like it as much as you liked the previous issues.

As all of you know that Branwyn is now one year old, we are now planning to celebrate Branwyn’s birthday. And thus we have decided to bring Branwyn’s Anniversary edition in print also. This print edition will be available on subscription. If you wish to subscribe for the print version and get your favourite Branwyn in your hands, do contact us at snehagupta01989@gmail.com

With lots of wishes, Sincerely,

Contacts: Email : snehagupta01989@gmail.com sneha@branwyn.in parul.parihar83@gmail.com

Website : www.branwyn.in

Sneha Gupta

Three Questions : Ashwina Garg Ashwina Garg has written stories for Woman's era and the novel "Spicy Bites of Biryani" by Srishti Publishers. A happily married Ashwina is a Mom of two kids. After completing ICWA, she worked as a technical writer and a translator. She used to write financial reports for a US based company and then tried her hand at fiction. She also takes cookery classes in Continental cuisines and likes to follow financial trends.

Her hobbies include reading, traveling, food, music and watching movies.

Branwyn : It is said that kitchen is the most important place in a woman's household since it is considered to be inextricably woven with her nature. How do you think a woman's nature relates to her culinary prowess? And how much does it differ from writing?



Ashwina : I don't think that the kitchen is the most important place in the household. Any activity that bonds a family together can be considered important. For example, some families bond over outdoor activities, family get together or through sports.

I think all women, whether they stay at home or work in an office, have an inherently domestic side that they have to indulge in. It's not always about cooking. Some woman are good at managing finances, some are good at keeping a good home, some are good at gardening, some are good with children's activities. A woman should concentrate on her interests and strengths and delegate the rest. It's no use always trying to be a good cook when you don't enjoy cooking just because other people tell you have to be a good cook. I love to cook and I find it very relaxing. I find it very similar to writing. Both involve a set of rules that you must follow, yet it's your creativity that makes your writing or cooking exceptional. Both require patience and dedication and passion.

Branwyn : Do you think that female authors should culminate the financial prospect of writing rather than just scribbling out the boredom.

Ashwina : Ofcourse, if you’re a writer, you should try and find a way to get paid for it. Whatever said and done, money is a great motivator and a writer will slowly get depressed and lazy if he/she is not getting paid for their hard work. Of course, even the best writers first started writing by scribbling nonsense. Writing is an art that gets better the more you practice. So a writer should start by writing as a hobby but the goal should be to convert the hobby into a career.

Branwyn : Which habit of women you find self-destructive?

Ashwina : I feel women find it very difficult to get the work-family balance right. Most of them will sacrifice their personal goals for the family and that is a sure way to be bitter and unhappy in life. Women need to have a good support system of caretakers, maids, etc so that they can also get time to do the things that they want do in life.

Thanks for being with us Ms. Ashwina Garg.

Branwyn Family wishes you all the very best in all your future endeavours.

Writers – creatures with a super active mind and unbound imaginations – the creatures whose subconscious mind keeps scribbling random thoughts – the creature whose inner self is known for never being at rest.

Then, could we source a moment which actually made them speechless? A moment when they came out of their safe writer zone and acted like a human?

Branwyn tried to find out –

Movie movie Bang Bang Laxmikant Shukl, author of 5 shades, got his speechless moments when a Production House contacted him regarding their upcoming movie. Truly speechless indeed!

Mere Ghar aayi ek Nanhi Pari For Mahip Chadha, his speechless moment was actually a blessing of God Almighty. As he says – “It was a pleasant day in October neither warm nor cold when I was sitting in my office-a young Capitain then, when the phone rang. A lady calls in a very excited tone and said – “Bhai Sahib, Jaldi se aayiye, time ho gaya hai.” My boss Major Kuldip Sharma told me to take his car. I reached home, gingerly seated her in the car and picked up a suitcase which she had prepacked. We reached the hospital and the Matron looked at my worried face and smiled. You are not the first ones who are going through with this ordeal-there have been many before you! RELAX! Then she told me to go home.

I waited on pins and needles till the awaited call came and I ran up the short cut -uphill till I reached my wife's room totally out of breath!

She smiled at me and handed me a bubble of joy=our first born -a girl. I clutched her to my chest =looked at my wife Kiran, to say THANK YOU. But no words assembled at my tongue!

I was speechless!”

Col. Mahip Chadha with wife Late Mrs. Kiran

Missing Cord Neoni D’souza, contributing author at ‘Tere hi Liye’ and “Syahi” however fell short of words when she lost her Dad. The moment made her speechless when she felt that the ever protective and ultimately caring father was not with her side.

Dream coming true For Pulkit Gupta - Compiler & contributing author at Moonlit Matinee, Author at Life and Promises and contributing author at You, me N Zindagi Omji Publishing House Pvt. Ltd. – got his speechless moment when he held his dream in his hands. As he says Well there are 2 moments in a person's life which makes him speechless- one related to professional achievement and another related to his personal life. I had 3 of them last year- One was when I fell in love and got yes in reply to my proposal, 2nd was when I cleared CS Executive in a very difficult

circumstances but I keep the 3 rd one above everything... it is related with my passion i.e. writing My first book "Life and Promises" got published and got sold out within a month. The moment when I had my first copy in my hand was very special and made me speechless.”

Author Diana Nixon has the same experience to share. She says - “There are so many things about my life that make me speechless! But when it comes to my writing, it’s always hard to describe what I feel the moment I take my new book in my hands. It’s like holding a vivid proof of another dream coming true….”. She is the author of Love Lines Series, Hate at First Sight, and Heavens Trilogy.

Same goes for Ritiik Babbar as well. As he told Branwyn - The moment I found the hidden writer in me and when I saw the cover page of my debut novel Unsatisfied Satisfaactionns.”

hasn’t purchased any of the prescribed medicines. When I asked why, he began to cry explaining his poor circumstances and misery. I gave him money to buy medicines.

But next day I found that he used that money to buy liquor somehow and made such a fuss in the hospital being drunk. His wife used to handle all the money because of his drinking habit. Without knowing any of these things, I gave him money. Senior doc was too angry that he scolded me publically in the ward telling I could have given him medicines instead of giving money directly. I am so sensitive a creature that I had to cry.

He was discharged due to his bad conduct. 2 months later, he came to hospital with wife.

They asked for me at the reception. I was wondered as I found him too ill and weak even to stand up. His wife explained that they didn’t come for treatment but just to meet me. He is having an advanced stage of bone CA and oncologist confirmed that he won’t survive more. She said he wanted to apologize to me once for what he did that day. He held my hands and smiled. I can’t explain that moment, still am speechless whenever thinking about it!” She is the author of “My Moonlit Pilgrimage”

The winning moment Author Faraaz Kazi got his speechless moment when he got his YCOF award. As he says – “Winning my first national award by YCOF in 2012.” Faraaz is the author of 'Truly Madly Deeply and 'The Other Side' Dr. Sasiprabha

The Bestseller Yahoo

Faraaz Kazi

The Medical Life However, our sweet Doctor plus Author Sasiprabha PS has a different story to tell.

She said - Once there was a patient admitted in my hospital under treatment of my senior doctor. Once while taking rounds I found he

Author Anuj was discovered jumping with excitement overloaded making him completely speechless. And the moment was….? Err… Let’s hear him - When my book became bestseller in Hyderabad and got to know next day- it’s even available in black market; by a friend.”

Thus we see that more or less our authors had same experience which would make any normal human speechless. Isn’t it a proof that our authors are very much humans like us? Think till we greet you in next issue…!

Alpine Ambergris : Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha

An Obliged Man An obliged man is a caged bird: Craving for heart’s fulfillment yet Fluttering unprotestingly In the unbreakable fetters, Like Drona, Shalya, Karna or a Dasharatha; Preferring to pay back With life Rather than To displease the obliger.

What else can you hope From a man doubly cursed Crutching on obligation?

Shouldn’t he sacrifice his identity Or put brake on his desires If they come into the obliger’s way?

Or should he redefine the sense of propriety?

Show guts to do What his heart wishes him to do?

Should we sacrifice our identity?

Only to payback the obligation?

Can this bartering be true religion?

Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha has been a member of NCERT and UGC Workshops for the proficiency of English Language in various study streams! At present, he is a prominent part of Magadh University as the Head of Department of English in S.N. Sinha College!

He honoured Branwyn with his special segment titled "ALPINE AMBERGRIS".

Alpine means mountain peak which denotes Subodh Sir's intellectual persona and Ambergris means a fragrant substance found at sea level.

Thus, "Alpine Ambergris" together denotes the combination of an intellectual person like Subodh Sir and novice writers like us who are just trying to make a difference!

A Million Universes : NitinSingh Miss and Mr. 65

The bus was rolling on the busy road.

The din of the passengers inside was being continuously punctured by the creaking of the windows. Nice cool drift from the Arabian Sea was blowing across the half-opened windows on either side of the bus.

Arun was standing near the middle seat of the bus with one hand riveted to the hanger for support and in the other hand carrying a bulky brown-coloured file.

Dressed in a full sleeve shirt with purple stripes, which was un-tucked in a grey trouser, he looked to be a young man in early twenties. Standing only a step behind Anuradha—A young lady dressed in a white cotton saree and black blouse with a handbag on one shoulder and the other hand on the hanger----Arun was disinclined to think that the two were completely strangers in the over-powering anonymity of Bombay.

'There is a lot common between me and her. Not only are we co-passengers of similar age group but our likes/dislikes may also be similar ', Arun was engrossed in his thoughts even as Anuradha stood un-aware though slightly conscious of the handsome young man standing behind her. 'Should I ask her destination, or should I get a seat vacated for her in this crowded bus so that she may sit comfortably while I shall stand beside her.'

Questions continued to pound Arun's mind as he stood behind Anuradha as if trying to shield his most prized possession against the travails of the worldly life.

And, Anuradha stood un-mindful, completely indifferent to the spell which her most graceful apsara-like beauty was creating on Arun.

It is not a less daunting a task to approach a young woman and strike a conversation out rightly. Only a few people have such a privilege like a policeman on the beat, a teacher in a class-room or a bus conductor in a bus.

But Arun was none of them. The Indian Culture doesn't permit a young man to approach his fellow of equal age but of opposite sex, with any ease. A battle between compelling passion and restraining taboos was brewing up in Arun's mind.' Who knows me in this bus? She may also be liking me. She may

appreciate my dare in approaching her for a conversation. I am an educated man with a gift of the gab to impress her.

Those who never try can never succeed.

What if I fail but if I God-willing succeed then?'

“May I...” as he mumbled, the young lady moved towards the door of the bus. The conductor had rung the bell for Borivalli where she had to get down. Whether she heard Arun's words or were they lost in the sound of the bell became a puzzle of Arun's mind.

Jai Jawan Jai Kisan was the slogan that reverberated in the democratic polity of India. There was an air of simplicity all around. Emphasis on self-reliance, curb on wasteful expenditures, placing the nation ahead of oneself were the themes that dominated the public discourse among the educated Indians at that time.

The spirit of hard work was in the air.

No shortcuts could get success. A farmer tilled the land with a pair of bullocks just as a soldier risked his life in the battle for sovereignty of his mother land.

Arun has just completed his B.A from the Bombay University. The meager resources of his family could not afford him higher studies. Energized by the chants of Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan he had determined to join the Indian Army as an officer. A regular visitor to the Central Library for competitive studies he used to board a bus from Malad to Bomabay Central almost daily.

It was a hot sunny day in Bombay when Anuradha had boarded a bus from Bandra. Arun was more than keen to capture a sight of Anuradha whom he had missed for as long as past three days. He saluted his luck that Anuradha had entered the same bus no: 3214 which he had boarded from Bombay Central to Malad. Arun cautiously passed a glance over Anuradha beware of the fact that she may not become conscious of being looked at. Anuradha took three steps inside the bus and sat on a seat three rows ahead of Arun but on the opposite line. Just as he saluted his luck earlier he was now cursing it that the seat adjacent to him was not empty and therefore she could not sit next to her.

‘Whether she has noted me?’ May be she has but is pretending otherwise as most girls do'. Arun was again in the grip of fancy.

Anuradha in her black saree was looking even more beautiful than Vajayanthimala, the popular actress of those times. The tears of sweat that rolled down her forehead tormented her but she was wiping them off with her colourful handkerchief. The occasional puff of cool air from outside soothed her a little. The eldest of the three siblings, Anuradha had dropped out of her graduation to support her family. Her father ran a small confectionary shop from their home itself. She had done a course in stenography and was applying for the job of steno in the different offices in Bombay.

Ting-Ting!. The conductor shouted 'Borivalli' and the bus stopped.

Anuradha, shouldered her hand bag and reached for the door. Arun's heart bgean to beat at rocket's speed. He got up unknowingly and trotted towards the door like a string tied to a kite. Anuradha was very nimble footed; she had taken a few steps on the pavement along the road. Arun felt the pull of a mysterious force that was over-powering him and accelerating him towards her. His mind had become feeble against the Pull acting on him. As he gained his consciousness, he started feeling guilty over his deed of following her.' But what is wrong in it? Brave are those who try and Cowards are those who die before a fight.' Arun's thoughts reflected the mindset of a soldier that he had already become even before joining the Indian Army. Arun was not a jaded lover. Nor was he a heart-broken Romeo. Infact he could not recollect any genuine crush which he might have nurtured earlier.

He was a sincere and determined person who had chosen the noble path of joining the Indian Army. Whenever he felt weak in his mind, he used to meditate on the life of a soldier in a battlefield and he was infused with courage and strength.' I am a soldier', Arun repeated in his mind. His feet started speeding up, his heart beat started normalizing and he started gaining confidence as he neared in Anuradha.

“Excuse me! My name is Arun Kumar.

Can you please guide me whether there is any magazine or newspapers shop nearby?”

Anuradha moved her neck to her the direction from which the voice came. In a split second she gazed at the young man who had abruptly broken her silent walk. The nicely combed hair, white sober shirt untucked in a navy blue trouser and a smiling face cast the impression of an educated middle class young man. “It’s round the corner on the other side of the road.”

Arun was delighted that Anuradha was addressing her. He had long cherished this Moment.

“Are you studying?” Arun asked.

“No, I am searching for a job.”

“I am also preparing for a competitive exam. I want to be an officer in the Indian Army.”

Anuradha nodded her head at the proud assertion of the young man, who was now walking along side her. The young man was mentally enjoying his success over breaking the ice that he had dreamt off. 'How foolish I was that I didn't dare to approach her in the bus itself ', thought Arun.

“You frequently travel by Bus No:2345” “Why?” Anuradha asked with eyebrows screwed up in suspicion.

her

“No-no nothing like that. I asked since I am also a regular passenger of this bus.'

Anuradha had a feeling that it was too much to talk to a stranger who she now realized might have been following her.

She enhanced her pace so as to break company with the stranger. Arun slowed down deliberately. He kept looking at her till she turned at the corner of the road. His Moment of Success hadn't last long. 'What is her name?' Oh! What a fool! I didn't even ask her name.' he thought.

Next morning, Arun was travelling on the jam-packed bus with a seat near the door. As the bus stopped at Borivalli his eyes began to search for someone whom these didn't wish to lose sight of. And there she appeared, this time dressed in a yellow saree resembling a sun-flower in its full glory.

“Hello! Please sit” Arun offered his seat, trying to hide his expressions about the marvelous spectacle of her beauty.

Anuradha sat with near silent thanks while recognizing the stranger who seemed to have pursued her yesterday.

Arun stood by her and hoped that this journey would become endless. He felt as if the stations were coming much

earlier than their scheduled arrival. Was the driver driving the bus fast or the distance between the stations had narrowed down. This time Anuradha got down at Bandra and left the bus without looking at Arun.

Army”. A smile appeared on Anuradha's face as she heard 'with good concentration'. Perhaps the present deed of Arun was not in conformity with his stated conviction.

Arun reached the Central Library and got immersed in his studies. He had made a promise with himself to succeed in the exam for selection of officers for the Indian Army. He had been good in English and Mathematics ever since his child-hood. These two sections weighed the maximum in the exam. Arun knew that how much a Government job mattered for him and his family. In the war torn economy of 1960s, a government job was like a kingdom for the country's unemployed. After the day's hard work, Arun caught the bus to Malad. His eyes moving on the passengers at every stop. But his search didn't turn out to be fruitful.

“My native place is Ferozepur in Punjab.

My father was a supervisor in a textile mill in Bombay. After his retirement our family decided to settle here itself.”

It was nice evening when Anuradha was hurrying down the pavement after offloading from the bus. It was a momentous evening for her as she had got a job after nearly six months of search. Suddenly a voice interrupted her from behind.

“Hi” She noticed with surprise that it was the same young man who had offered her a seat in the bus, the other day.

She replied, “Hello!”

“What is your name?” asked Arun.

Her heart beating a little faster, she stopped and apprehensively replied,” Please don’t follow me”.

These words evoked a nervous reaction from Arun, who also stopped and said,” Please don’t take otherwise. I am a sincere person. My name is Arun. I am a graduate from Bombay University. I stay in Malad and I aspire to be an Army Officer.”

Arun had given her un-called for introduction. He knew that 'it was now or never'. He knew it was probably the last chance; 'The Last Chance' his heart skipped a beat as he thought about his daring deed.

“Ok!” said walking.

Anuradha

and

“You belong Anuradha.

to

Bombay?”

asked

Anuradha was noticing a sense of sincerity in the conversation of the young man. He was tall and elegant. His thoughts appeared even taller to Anuradha. It seemed that now it was the turn of Anuradha to fall a prey to the Cupid's arrows.

“Shall we sit here for a cup of tea?” Arun asked her while nervously pointing towards a road-side tea stall. Anuradha accepted the offer almost unconsciously.

As the tea was served to them they started drifting towards an exciting conversation. The first conversation of love! There is something peculiar about when a young man meets his companion of equal age. They don’t know their ending but they have an inner urge to know each other thoroughly. They may not be secure about their future but they want to remove the clouds of suspicion and uncertainties encircling each other.

In a laughter wrecking tone Arun while dipping a Glucose biscuit in his tea is telling Anuradha,” I love...”

Anuradha is stunned for a second. There is pin-drop silence.

Arun completes, “... eating tea-dipped biscuits with every sip of tea.” And the atmosphere reverberates with the hilarious laughter that ensues thereafter as if two birds have taken on new wings; as if the crescent moon and the evening star are enjoying each other's presence; as if two daffodils are kissing each other in some deep forest; as if the dew drops are waiting to be kissed by the new morning light and sublimate.

started

“My name is Anuradha. I have left my graduation studies in-between to do a job which I have finally got after a long wait.”

“Congratulations! I am also studying daily with good concentration to clear the exam for selection to the Indian

Nitin Singh is an introvert who loves to scribble down his exploits. His freestyle write-ups often deal with day-to-day adventures of middle class people. Nitin is a resident of Ferozepur.

Mr. Incandescent Speaks…

Bhagwat Geeta in Modern Times

To call our generation a confused one is a cliché.

We have reached a stage in humanity where the societies are becoming more convergent than ever before. The ‘revolutions’ in one part of the world followed by another in the other isn’t a matter of chance. It is the natural result of rapid transformations, path-breaking conquests and shifting paradigms.

I lost my grandfather last year. His last memory of me would have been our last conversation on Skype. He saw me speaking to him on the monitor of the computer he had placed in his room. He wasn’t surprised; just overwhelmed at being able to see me from thousand miles away. He asked me if I was spending a lot of money on such a technology. It amazes me as much as it amazed him to know that such a thing was free. Barely years back, cellphones looked like miracles and Skype existed in the world of Mandrake only.

Not surprisingly either, some great texts of the yester years have come to lose sheen. Texts that once were seen as rule-books to life may now be seen as obsolete, given the rapid, chaotic changes that surround us.

Ironically, the rapidly changing world brings its own challenges. It is against the basic human instinct of seeking consistency, and avoiding disparity. It demolishes everything that may have been a “guide” simply because events, actions and actions occur today in ways unprecedented.

The Bhagwat Gita is one remarkable work of…man (!) which has survived the test of time.

That is, to put it mildly.

At the peril of being graded as a …whatever (it surprises me to note the evolution of an entirely regressive nomenclature to describe anyone who uses analogies from Hinduism!) I would go on to quote that there are instances which make me wonder at times if The Bhagwat Gita- literally- The “Song Of God” is but a mere text.

Let’s consider this.

Krishna, the symbol of the divine, who is all that there is, is seen in human form.

He preaches to his disciple- a bereaved,

confused yet valorous Arjuna about the oneness of spirit. All that he expounds from there- the Gunas, the Karma yoga (the path of action), Gnana yoga (the path sublime wisdom), Raja yoga (the path of Meditation and Spiritualism) or Bhakti yoga (the path of devotion) insinuates that the motive of existence is the awareness of oneness, and all paths lead to “Him”- the supreme one, who is all that there is, and everything starts and end from within him.

worlds.” Shortly after Oppenheimer, director of the laboratory that developed the nuclear bomb, saw the fireball glowing over the New Mexico desert (16 July 1945), words from the Bhagavad Gita was quoted by him. The word “Kaal” is interpreted differently by Vivekanandhe assumes it says “time”, whereas Oppenheimer says it is death. What if the pun was intentional? It may just have been, refereeing to later quotes from the Gita.

Also, in all narrations of the Bhagwat Gita, it is assumed that everything (not just the human Body-mind you!) is constituted by the five basic ‘elements, i.e. ’ether", air, fire, water and earth.

Each time I read it, I hold it away from my body. The sparks are so real that I am afraid that flares will erupt in my hands.

We sure can contest that. We sure would receive glares if we started discussing this in public. We sure would be named mystiques if there were some kind people around.

But that was way ahead of the discovery of the basic concept of atoms and molecules. Let us appreciate that. On a closer look, even atoms and molecules are not solid particles. That is energy vibrating at various frequencies, at different levels.

All that there is, everything everywhere, is energy…and that vibrates at certain frequencies.

Either water or air, at the level which is more basic than what our society terms as basic, are alarmingly congruent in constitution.

I definitely don’t attempt to simplify, or discuss the Gita. Have the world’s paper goes on that. What I certainly attempt to do is to demystify it. It is a relevant text, more so in the current world of selfcenteredness and dilemma. It is not just philosophical or religious in approach- it may be more scientific than what we assume. And thus, it must be viewed as a guide rather than a text What I would like to do is invite opinions about the aspects of it which readers would like to discuss. I solicit your advice, discussions and suggestions. To discuss further in the upcoming issues, please write to us (To Sneha, or to Branwyn on Facebook) Keenly wait to hear from you.

Energy can neither be created nor be destroyed (yes, there us a twist; Mr. Einstein was born- I am aware of that though). Moves from one form to another. And by the earlier definition, it also is the essence of all that there is.

What am I trying to allude? The essence of oneness? I leave that open to interpretation. I am too meager in my identity to attempt to give a final word on it. What I am however, suggesting is the possibilities in this school of thought, and the opening of avenues of interpretation. Is there a possibility of the existence of (with the scholars of that era) knowledge even more sublime in form that that which we pride in possessing?

J. Robert Oppenheimer, the mastermind of the first nuclear weapon ‘of modern times’ quoted the Bhagwat Gita saying “I am become death, the destroyer of

Mr. Incandescent is a soul never at peace. But once you ignore his self proclaimed megalomania with fallacies, you discover that he stores doublefolds than what he actually speaks out. Adoor from Dhanbad, he lives in New Delhi and works as an Investment Banker.

Sacrament Sobriety : Gaurav Gill “When affection congealed” I was happy tugging onto the dark walls that I had been confined in from a long time. One day I heard someone saying from beyond these towering sooty walls; “she is now 12 weeks old, don’t delay it any further”. Strangely I have never spotted any nook or cranny from where the light could embrace me.

It’s been ages that I have been swimming in this vacuum of loneliness. I have been marooned.

Do you think that the abortion that takes place these days meets any of the above pre-requisites?

Talking about the statistics of abortion, they have spiraled from mere 24300 in 1972 to 620472 as reported in 2010. Think twice before you snuff an infant’s life, because those folded hands might be just praying to embrace you.

Mom had been caressing me from beyond these impenetrable walls. When she strokes the walls, I press my head against it; her touch transcends love and I could feel it coursing through my veins. I could almost feel my heart throbbing at a frenetic pace, my knees knocking against the wall; joy knew no bounds. One day the nook opened up, I pranced with glee. I could see a pair of shiny silvery object (suction curette) heading towards me. I thought that mom had given me the first gift ever; I opened my arms as wide as I could. My purported friend caught hold of my neck, and then its grip started to tighten. Arggghhhhhh….. it was strangling me, I could feel my breath getting snuffed. “Mom, please help”; I shouted at the top of my lungs but it fell on deaf ears. I could feel a strong gush of wind and I got sucked into the black hole. I was reunited with my divine creator.

“Congratulations ma’am your abortion was successful”. The blood soaked corpse lay swaddled in a corner.

The Medical Termination of Pregnancy (MTP) Act of India,1971 clearly states the conditions under which a pregnancy can be ended or aborted, the persons who are qualified to conduct the abortion and the place of implementation. Some of these qualifications are as follows:  Women whose physical and/or mental health was endangered by the pregnancy  Women facing the birth of a potentially handicapped or malformed child  Rape  Pregnancies in unmarried girls under the age of eighteen with the consent of a guardian  Pregnancies in "lunatics" with the consent of a guardian

Mr. Gaurav Gill is a person of quintessential contemplation known for his kind and modest nature. He is a lecturer and lives in New Delhi.

Down Memory Lane : Koushik Gangopadhyay Hero of Kargil

The Sun had started setting towards the West. The Himachal Roadways bus was passing through the circuitous road on its way to Kalka. A young man in his mid twenties was looking at the landscape through the window and was lost in his thoughts. He was shaken out of his day dream when the conductor tapped his left shoulder for the ticket.

Sanjay, the young man, stared at the conductor with a blank look on his face and handed over a 100 rupees note and continued gazing at the beautiful hills and meadows. He had a sad yet determined look on his face.

In fact Sanjay, is a young soldier who was on annual leave and was enjoying his holidays in the heavenly state of Himachal Pradesh. His marriage had just been fixed and while he was spending some invaluable moments of his life with his fiancée, the postman knocked at his door and delivered a telegram. It was the call of duty that the postman delivered at the door of Sanjay. The call to sacrifice every other wish at the altar of the nation. The call to put the nation before self.

14 years ago a young man just 24 years old left his native village in Himachal Pradesh to answer the call of duty. The Pakistani Army under the command of the shrewd and cunning, General Musharaff had intruded into vast areas of the Indian territory in the Drass,

Kargil, Tololing, Mushkoh sector. Rifleman Sanjay Kumar alike several Indian Armed Forces personnel, had to cut short his leave and report to his unit to counter the Pakistani threat. With a heavy heart leaving behind his loved ones and his fiancée he had boarded a bus to ferry him to Kalka.

Sanjay stiffened his jaws, clinched his fists and spoke to himself. “Sherawali ki Kasam, Jan dekarr bhi Desh ki daman ko bachana hai.” He was eagerly waiting for his journey to end so that he can join back his folks in the Indian Army camp.

No sooner had he joined his unit he was immediately inducted into the formation tasked to re capture Point 5140 on Tololing hills. Colonel YK Joshi the commander of 13 Jammu and Kashmir Rifles briefed his men on the importance of the mission.

Point 5140 was one of the important peaks held by the Pakis and recapturing it was of utmost importance from the Indian perspective…After a fierce gun battle, lost ground was recaptured by Col Joshi and his men. The intruders were flushed out from point 5140 and the Commanding Officer himself raised the tricolour on the icy peak.

But a soldier has no time to rest. He may relax, but he can only rest during the eternal

journey to his heavenly abode.

Immediately after the mission of Tololing the unit was ordered to attack Point 4875 another Pakistani stronghold.

Col Joshi and his subordinates carried out a thorough study of maps of the area and with the inputs; he chalked out a strategy to outsmart the Pak soldiers holding vantage points. Two companies of J&K Rifles attacked the Pakistani positions from the front while others provided rear support. As usual Colonel Joshi was leading his Jaanbaz soldiers from the front. Rifleman Sanjay Kumar, the soft spoken yet gutsy guy, volunteered to be in the leading party and was tasked to capture a flat rocky peak which would make the recapture of Peak 4875 easier. It was nothing less than suicide. But the devotees of Sherowali had taken the oath of saving the dignity of India and regain lost ground, be it at the cost of a few young lives. Sanjay said to himself “Pakistaniyon ne mere sathiyon ki jan liya hain , mujhe unke jan ka badla lena hain.”

Colonel Joshi fondly called Joe by his colleagues briefed his men one last time and started climbing up the snow clad rocks. Sanjay Kumar was in the leading party right at the front of his platoon. As thoughts of his fiancée, family members and friends carried on flashing in his mind, the more

determined he was becoming to avenge the death of his fellow soldiers. Shortage of oxygen, the biting cold, the steep landscape and intermittent enemy fire was making life hell for these brave young men donning the olive green uniform. But not a single soldier complained. The mission had to be fulfilled be it at the cost of my own life was every one’s motto. Over and above there was Joe Sir motivating his men leading from the front.

It was 4 th July 1999. As the Indian troops zeroed in towards the Pakistani locations they started firing on the Indian soldiers. Because of the flat landscape the Pak soldiers had a clear view of the Indian positions and started firing continuous bursts of Machine guns. The Pakistanis were having a target practice and were shooting down our men at will, as if they were practising at a firing range. Rifleman Sanjay Kumar who was in the front was hit badly in the chest and hands. Bleeding profusely he said to himself “I am going to die but I have to save as many of my colleagues as I can.” He was almost 150 – 200 mtrs away from the Pakistani bunker when he thought – Enough is enough…. Firing continuously from his automatic rifle Sanjay Kumar charged towards the enemy bunker from where most of the gun fire was coming.

The Pak soldiers were surprised by the daredevil act of Sanjay and before they could react, Sanjay grasped the fire hot barrel of the Pak Machine gun with his bare hands and turned its muzzle towards the Pakistanis and pressed the trigger. Three Pakistani soldiers were killed instantly by the

volley of fire. In the meantime the other Indian soldiers regrouped and seeing Sanjay’s heroics they too charged towards the Pakistani bunkers shouting “Jai Mata Di….Sherowali ki Jai”…The Flat Top was captured by killing all the Pakistani soldiers but at a huge cost. A lot of young lives were sacrificed at the altar of the Nation’s pride and prestige.

The unsung heroes bled away to death. Bodies of men who dared to save the dignity of our Nation were strewn around the snow laden peaks. Sons, husbands, lovers lay motionless with their hearts and lungs punctured due to gunfire. But there was not a single bullet injury on the back. Our brave soldiers took each shot of the enemy bullet on their chest.

The next morning, the Indian Air Force flew several sorties to evacuate the martyred and the injured. The Indian Air Force was compelled to maintain a passive role lest the Kargil conflict is blown out of proportion and a full scale war becomes inevitable. As the rescue team and medical personnel reached the Flat top to bring back the dead and injured they found Rifleman Sanjay Kumar alive but bleeding profusely.

Sanjay the youngest of his siblings survived the ordeal of 4th July. The President of Indian honoured him on 26 January 2000, with the Highest Gallantry Award, the Param Vir Chakra for showing extreme courage, valour and selfless service towards the nation. The shy and humble Sanjay did not believe the news until he saw his photographs in the nation’s dailies. When the media wanted to know his reaction, his

answer was straight and simple…..Maine jo kiya woh kuch alag nahi tha. Meri jagah par koi aur hota to woh bhi yehi karta…A decade and half has passed since the Kargil war has ended. The heroes of Kargil have all been forgotten. The sacrifices of the brave men in uniform are no longer debated over TV programmes, the habitats allotted for the widows of the war heroes have been captured by the corrupt and powerful, yet the survivors of the bloody battle still relive those moments of blood and fire moments of blood and gory.

For Muskan and Neeraj, Sanjay Kumar their father is nothing less than a hero of a real life story. They hear with rapt attention when Sanjay narrates those horrific incidents that occurred over 14 years ago on the hills of Kargil.

Its my humble request to all my readers…..let us not forget the sacrifices of these ordinary men who did extraordinary things in their lifetime yet are forgotten and left to live a difficult life after retiring from service. Sanjay is one of the 3 living Param Vir Chakra winners of this nation.

Jai Hind....

Kaushik Gangopadhyay is an exdefense personnel presently working with State Bank of India. He honoured us by accepting our request to share his real experiences and anecdotes of Air-Force life in ‘Down Memory Lane’ section of Branwyn.

Fragrance of Heena

Sanguine Wishes…

As the old year ends and the new one arrives The wishes and hopes come along revived For us a year to be bright with hopes and dreams Allowing us to weave stories with new themes Enjoying life bit by bit like flavored ice-creams Jostling off gloom and bouncing back in gleam A year enlivening our wishes of weather hues To us the tinge of Mother Nature will amuse As we hope less of heat aggression by the sun So sprawling on the beaches will be fun As we enjoy luscious greenery in the rains Its droplets will ease all our pangs and pains Cool breeze giving shivers through veins Soon leaves fall when the autumn springs Depicting life’s phases in a complete ring As we love the warmth of bed in chilly winters Sipping hot coffee wearing sweaters indoors Illuminating fireplace in our home’s interiors Measuring the chillness of weather in indicators Such are my New Year wishes for my loved ones Along with my care, kinship and love in tons…!!

Heena Ahuja is a girl who loves to scribble the rhythmic melody of literature. She lives in Mumbai.

Mr. YouKnowMe Speaks…

Always Around You… A freezing dawn of January, Mystique mist covering the itinerary, Chilling air reaching inside the cloths, And then I heard soft whispers, Saying “Don't go back to sleep” I thought it’s an illusion, And it’s only my mind’s creation, But I heard it again, Now in a familiar voice, Saying “Don't go back to sleep”

It kept saying the mystique, After a while my tears roll down, But smile came at the end, When I heard it all, It told me to stop for a while, Turn and don’t look back, But I ignored the last sentence, And looked back with oddity, I saw the two worlds meeting at horizon, I saw the door of second world, Round in shape with golden architrave, Full of clouds and it was left open, I tried looking at the shadow inside, When I saw my ‘Angel’ coming, And said “Don't go back to sleep, Because I am no Dream, I am in real, Whenever You will think of me, I will always be there, Always around you”…

Mr. YouKnowMe is someone whom all of us know yet all of us are still to discover. He is a biker, an author and like all of us, a lover of life… He is at present working with an IT Company.

Amateur Scribbles…

Writing is Magic, when I write about YOU In each story of my life Where you lived in; In each moment, Where you were guest to my heart Every smile of yours That I treasured in my eyes Every single time, When you put your hands To hold your cheeks In every heart beats That jumped in happiness When I looked at you, The spell I would cast on our life Through my pen again For all those wonderful nights We laughed together For all those secret moments I stole without your consent I still believe in fairy tales And as a writer I would bring happy ending to our story The story of friendship, love and life The tale that has No dark clouds, no demons, no fire To burn the dreams The saga of beauty of life, The power of love The play of hearts would be Where everyone believes in love Where even the nights Are brighter than the day Where everything around Is enchanting and beautiful Even I, your princess Need not have to kiss a frog To get you my prince Where I can listen To the voice of your heart Where imaginations Paint the realities The world Where each bird that whispers About your love for me I would write a story like this From our heart Where every time we meet, We have the feeling of that first love Where each time we kiss, We can sense the curiosity of first kiss Each day where life has tasted The joy of being together I would write for a journey Where memories Would never be our destination We would never travel across the places Of anger, sorrow, nightmares There would be flow of words That would be sweeter than the honey The story would end with the rarer gift That would be gifted to me-YOU - Ms. N. M. LEEPSA L. M. Thapar School of Management (LMTSOM), Thapar University, Patiala, Pin 147004 Email: n.m.leepsa@gmail.com

that I don’t know. For example in your day to day conversations how many times you must have said, “I Know,” does this ring a bell?

Yes, you know but in fact you don’t know, thus does not it become increasingly important to concede to the fact to know that you don’t know.

My experience over the years, I have noticed that while

frequently using the phrase, “I Know,” one actually shuts the door to learn more about the situation.

Are you under the impression that if you don’t know something is going to hurt your ego? Well if you are under this perception then you have caused more harm to yourself than good.

Knowledge is strength only when you have the information you require at that moment of need, thus always being aware, “I know that I don’t know,” also gives you an edge over others, because you realize your limitations and are aware there is always room for improvement, for knowing what you don’t know.

How does this become your strength in the personality buildup? Very simple, what you are doing is a character trait which few want to develop, honesty. Once you are successful in being honest with yourself, you achieve a sense of satisfaction, which goes a long way in helping you achieve your desired goats with pride.

This trait in one’s character carries a lot of weight in any field you would like to work. It also works as a great motivator, because one carries no mental blocks all the passages possible for knowing more are open, thus assimilation of information becomes a continuous process, for you “I know that I don’t know,” becomes a constant motivator to keep on urging you towards new vistas of knowledge.

My experience over the years have also taught me the tough lesson that it is better to accept the fact that it is not possible to know everything but I can always create a strong mental attitude, that I do not fall prey to this syndrome, “I know”.

Reality has never hurt anyone, thus will never hurt you but to live in a real world you need to be practical and pragmatic. By exercising this style of thinking and living, the most important element you develop in your personality is that facing reality remains a positive attitude of looking at all situations.

Getting the best and giving your best under all circumstances reinforces the need for more information. More information better is the judgment which in turn helps you take swift decisions leading to high achievement of success.

Hardaman Singh

I WIPED HER TEARS She was alone, Sitting in a bench of a park, In a shabby dress,

TO KNOW THAT I DON’T KNOW

With her stick and baggage.

We always want to live under the impression that we know everything.

Her son has deserted her in grief,

Here I am not talking about nuclear physics or any such subject, the

What she expects now,

attempt is to make one realize that there is nothing wrong in accepting

Only death,

Because no one to have

He wakes up with the Mother Nature

Sympathy on her.

The sun shines bright upon that,

I saw her tears

And the poet smiles to feel all this

Wetting her innocent face,

Over his grave

I asked her the reason,

The birds sing their song

Then she told me her sad story

In the early morning

I made myself her son

And the poet rests at peace for long

And put my head in her lap

The stars like the little drops of rain twinkle,

I felt as if she was my own mother,

In the sky…..

She Loved and kissed my forehead like son,

With a poet they all mingle

Oh from my mouth,

And the night hugs him tight

The only word came

In its sweet dreams…..

Mother (for me it is a holy word) .

I miss all the creatures,

I wiped her tears from her eyes,

As they gather near my grave to make a prayer

I relieved her pain

Their crying makes me sad,

And sang a hymn for her,

But I can’t touch them

She felt serene and delighted

As I know that my soul is touching them…….

She poured her loved again and again over.

Smiled and laughed at me

-

Pushkar Bisht

Oh I felt that I was the only one Who felt her pain in her loneliness

NEVER MIND Here, again with my words, sad, upset & this time really ALONE ,

A blessing from the Lord A blessing from the Lord,

Now, totally am down , yes ! I am shedding those tears that I have never SHOWN !!

Coming in plenty without any cost, No matter how much you lost, You will get from his blessing a lot, Wipe out all your tears, Sing your happy song without any fear, No devil will take your ship to a tear, Because you are the Lord’s child very dear, In blessing his presence is always there, If you don’t collect his blessing he is no more there, You put always yourself under his care, So he will remain with you in your every tear.

Here lies a poet dead Here lies a poet dead,

Don't even know what's running through my mind?

Might be it is now almost blank, or possibly, MESSY, But , somehow I realize, for the thing I desire for , Yea ! I want to look at me, again, being HAPPY! I have lost the smile, that I used to put on all the way around, in each MOOD, Hey , where are you ? Yes, you the one, Come & bring me laughs , if you really COULD !!

Though, I am trying it by my own, But , alas ! I am unable do SO , Thus , here , I need someone else , Else the one , who can exactly understand how I am ? Yeah! The one who can love me back always & never ask me to GO !!

You know whom I am talking about, Hmm...Here, I am calling you, come soon or I'll DIE, Need you , yeah , only you.....

After going through deep melancholy of life In the bed of death

The poet does not cry now,

Need you, yeah, only you.....

Oh.. please come back where are you ?WHAT ??

You never existed....in my life...he answered, I wanted to cry bitterly but spoke out I NEVERMIND !!

The world mourns to lose a shining star,

- Lalima Yadav

Sorrow doesn’t engulf the poet any more, And silence takes him in its core,

Which always shined in all dark……

Who will come again to love?

The sad world ponders But I must come in the other form again to love And compose beautiful poems For my beautiful world that has shed its tears in my memory…..

A man of thoughts, No more poetry he pens down But he sleeps peacefully In his grave, And the grass grows green, the dew fallen upon What a beautiful morning To a poet,

Random Reveries : Sneha Gupta The best part of my day starts when I come home from office. And the magical moments begin when after having dinner; I come to my study room. There are large windows in my study room which create magical path for the moonlight to enter my room. And I, sitting beside the windows, watch the moon. We talk endlessly.

Sometimes, moon shifts its position from my continuous gaze to give me the clue of the nearing dawn, so that I could have the amount of necessary sleep as per suits of my biological clock. Otherwise, my eyes refuse even to wink and lose the sight of moon for that much moment.

Losing the sight of the moon could not be acceptable that easily.

[Sneha Gupta belongs to a small town in Bihar. She is a banker by profession and breathes to write.

She is the author of two published books and received several awards for her writing ventures. She is the founder and editor of Branwyn.]

Moon and I share good compatibility.

Several hours we spend talking to each other.

Several speechless talks... Moon also loves the night and me too...

Moon was also afraid of loneliness very much and me too...

But later, moon also developed affinity for this loneliness and me too...

Moon sings the songs composed by the clouds. Wind makes the lyrics.

Moon loves music and me too...

Everynight, it seems as if moon covers the same path in the sky.

But actually, moon is on a never ending journey. A journey which goes through new hopes every night. A journey beyond the clouds, beyond the sky, beyond the universe. Is this journey actually a search for someone? Moon doesn't reply. Neither do I...